


Dirty Talk

by MagicaDraconia16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: Greg gets a shock when Mycroft starts talking dirty.





	Dirty Talk

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt over at the Sherlock Kink Meme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.dreamwidth.org/75973.html?thread=260520133#cmt260520133
> 
> I would have posted it over here sooner, but I kept forgetting.

“Oh, yes, _fuck_ me! Harder!”

The moaned words caused Greg to freeze just outside their bedroom door, a horrible sense of déjà vu washing over him. He’d heard very similar words from his ex-wife, just before he’d walked in on her cheating on him for the third time – with a _milkman_ , for God’s sake! He hadn’t even thought there still _were_ milkmen around these days, especially in London.

The next thing to hit him was a hot flood of jealousy, and no small amount of hurt. He’d never heard Mycroft sound like _that_ before. ‘Ice Man’ was a sobriquet that Mycroft had genuinely earned; although he’d never actually physically recoiled from Greg’s touch, he’d never initiated anything either. Greg had actually begun to wonder lately if the only reason the elder Holmes brother had agreed to go out with him in the first place was to get Greg to stop hassling him, and now just couldn’t find a non-messy way of getting free of him.

Deciding that, sod it, he was not going to be the pathetic sod who got walked all over – again – Greg threw open the bedroom door, fully prepared to start yelling.

All his accusatory words died in his throat, as his mouth went instantly dry, and the wanton, solitary figure in the room froze.

Mycroft was sprawled in the middle of their bed. He was still wearing the same shirt, tie and trousers that Greg had seen him don that morning, but the shirt was now unbuttoned and flung open, the tie was so loose that the knot was now halfway to Mycroft’s belly, and the trousers were hanging off of one ankle. Although his other foot was propped on the bed, his drawn-up leg was relaxed enough to fall to the side, going a _very_ good job – in Greg’s opinion – of framing Mycroft’s arse.

Including the thick, black dildo that was three-quarters of the way inside Mycroft.

“Gre-Gregory,” Mycroft finally managed to get out, his breath hitching in the middle. “What . . . You’re home early.”

“I think I need to start coming home early more often,” Greg said, as he finally found his voice again. He grinned as he stepped closer to the bed. “Need a hand there?” Resting a knee on the bed, he reached out to brush his fingers over the end of the dildo.

“No, no – _ah!_ – hand needed,” Mycroft answered, twitching as Greg jostled the toy inside him. “But perhaps – _oh, God!_ – something else?”

“Well, now.” Greg stood upright again and placed his hands at the waistband of his trousers. “Are you going to ask me as nicely as whoever you were just thinking of?”

Mycroft gave him one of his Holmes’ patented _you-see-but-don’t-observe_ looks. Somehow, coming from Mycroft, it had an effect on him that Sherlock’s similar look didn’t quite manage. “Honestly, Greg,” the man tutted. “As if I’d ever be thinking of anyone else other than you. But since you want me to ask nicely . . . _then FUCK me, Greg_!”

“My absolute pleasure,” growled Greg, and pounced.


End file.
